


At Least It Happened While He Was Asleep

by newtporn



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Death Day AU, I'd rather call it sad fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Thominewt, extremely cheesy, well not exactly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4534047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtporn/pseuds/newtporn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a saying: “every year we go through our day of birth celebrating it. The weird thing is that we also go through our day of death having no idea that it’s it.” This prompted me to an AU idea where people do know their death day and month, but not year, so they spend one same day of every year freaking out.</p><p>an AU I’ve created - the Death Day AU - Thominewt</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least It Happened While He Was Asleep

_“Hogan, the peace is nearly won across the Nine Realms. You should stay here. Be with your people, where your heart is. Asgard can wait,”_ a smooth bass speaks as a flash of blond hair fills the entire width of computer screen.

 _“You have my thanks, Thor,”_ the shot cuts to an Asian-looking man in slinky black armor.

 _“As you have mine,”_ comes the reply, a sentry noble smile adorning the demigod’s face as he nods slowly in acknowledgement of respect for his interlocutor.

It’s Newt who breaks first. He suddenly sighs, chest a little shaky with the weight of his dooming thoughts, and leans forward to press the space bar on their laptop keyboard. The movie pauses on Chris Hemsworth’s close up that would have been extremely attractive under any other conditions. But not now.  

“Are we gonna talk about it?” the boy prompts, nervously readjusting his legs on the couch.

Thomas places a hand on his thigh, as if trying to ask wordlessly to postpone this talk for a little longer. Newt meets his pleading gaze determinedly, shoulders tense with anticipation.

Thomas sighs. He knew this conversation was coming but he’d hoped it could at least wait until the movie is over.

Newt props up, supported by palms, his whole body language showing that he’s waiting for the younger boy’s response. It’s Minho who breaks the silence though.

“About what exactly?” he says, wiggling his back to slide a little lower on the sofa and get comfortable with his legs on Newt’s folded knees.

“Oh, I don’t know. We could discuss the weather, or this movie we just didn’t watch, or Kim K’s nudes, and maybe just maybe the fact that my birth certificate states I might be a bloody goner by tomorrow night." There’s subtle hint of irritation mixed with something that sounds a lot like panic in the voice, the kind that Newt trusts not to appear noticeable for his boyfriends.

Minho shifts. "There’s a vague chance of that,” he reminds, teeth digging into his bottom lip – a habit he only seems to recall having when he’s feeling anxious. None of them would admit it, but all three know that Newt's asthma makes those words hard to believe. 

“God, I hate these days,” Thomas sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to gather all the patience he has.

Celebrating the day of one’s birth is pretty much a global thing. It’s always cheery and endearing with endless display of affection towards the hero of occasion, heaps of shabby wishes repeating themselves over years as a worn out habit, some presents if that’s how it works for particular customs, and a blissful positive vibe.

Going through the second date mentioned in birth certificate, however, is not as promising to say the least. The broadly loathed day has four very important digits missing which makes it even more unbearable to cope with. The death day with its standard “unknown year” addition to the precise month and day. Are you going to die today? Is it going to happen on this day twenty years from now? That’s above one’s cognition.

“I’m thinking you should stay home to start off with. I’ll manage a day off and hopefully so will Thomas. We’ll look after you and spend the day together,” Minho suggests, keeping himself distant from any form of sarcasm.

The Asian’s speech usually turns slightly too formal when he’s showing no signs of wittiness on rare,  _rare_ occasions. His boyfriends even had a conversation once about whether it actually takes effort from Minho to keep his sharp tongue at bay. They’d concluded it probably does.

Thomas nods approvingly. "I second that. We’ll watch some more Marvel movies and cuddle." 

An uncomfortable moment of silence hangs in the air before Newt shakes his head slowly. “You’re kidding, right?”

Their romantic relationship is about 7 months old now. They haven’t gone through this kind of situation together before; Newt’s death day is the first they’ll have to deal with. Thomas was pretty sure they’ll come up with a routine for these days over time – staying home and being lazy sounded like a great plan to him. Until Newt crashed his vision with those three simple words.

“How else would we spend the day?” he tries to be careful with the question, unsure of what Newt has in his mind.

“I’m not locking my arse inside, and you two are not taking a day off to babysit me. It’s my bloody fate, if it’s happening tomorrow than nothing can change that,” the blonde states harshly, breath hitching at the intensity of his own words, panic drifting along his mind for a brief second of fear that he may have an asthma attack right here and now.

“It’s not about that, Newt,” Minho argues softly, sitting up straight and entwining his fingers with the blonde’s on his lap.

“It’s not like we wanna try to prevent what may happen to you tomorrow,” the youngest boy supports, crossing legs under his weight. “We just want to spend the day with you. Be next to you when it happens or better say  _doesn’t happen._ ”

“I see your point,” Newt gives an unintended light squeeze to Minho’s hands in his. “How come you two are in sync about this?”

“We’ve been discussing it for weeks. Had to come up with some sort of plan before the actual day comes,” Thomas confesses, leaning his head onto Newt’s shoulder since the blonde is positioned in between him and Minho.

“I don’t have the bloody nerve to see your faces if you get to watch me die. That’s too much to ask for. I’m gonna go to work tomorrow,” Newt shakes his head, shooing away the images of his teary-eyed boyfriends from his mind.

He’s ready for the argument, ready to fight back the boys confronting him, but to his surprise there’s a warm pair of lips gently leaning on his knuckles and a silent “okay” seeping from Minho’s mouth.

“You’re good with that?” Newt asks, taken aback.

“As long as that’s what you want,” the Asian reassures rubbing a thumb across the back of the other boy’s palm, voice never having sounded so gentle.

Newt looks over at Thomas, and seeing him nod, noticeably relaxes, letting a long-tamed sigh vibrate his chest.

"That’s sorted, then,” he breathes again, unable to hide the tremble of his respiration.

It’s scary. Newt is an adult and Newt is a strong man. But it’s still scary.

Facing death is not what he thought he’d be afraid of, since he once tried to draw it himself. He later realized it was stupid of him to attempt suicide on the day that’s not supposed to be the one for his death. He’s got a crack on the bone of his ankle as a painfully tangible consequence of this accident.

The truth is that knowing the exact day of your end and at the same time not knowing it at all is very, very stressful. Newt's past the death wish, he has two boys sitting on his both sides that are worth living for. Yet there he is, a step before losing them forever if tomorrow’s the day.

It’s not the oblivion that Newt fears.

“Hey,” a familiar voice pulls him out of the thoughts and the blonde pays his attention to the source of his salvation. “It’s okay, Newt. It’s gonna be okay.” Thomas is smiling at him fondly with a hand sunk in the sandy desert of his blond hair, ruffling the strands in slow patterns.

Newt notices the younger boy’s other hand merged with Minho’s over his knees with the fingers of the bigger boy rubbing soothing circles over Thomas’s moles. His peripheral vision shows him the image of Minho’s eyes fixed on Thomas, encouraging the boy to stay strong.

It hits him like a truck on a free laboring highway. It's not all about him. He may be the one doomed to die tomorrow, but that doesn't mean he's the only one fearing that day. Hell knows, he’s not as bothered as his boyfriends probably are. Suddenly, there's an image in his mind, a blurred scene playing before his eyes. Thomas’s and Minho’s silhouettes sit on opposite sides of the lunch table, patiently waiting for Newt to come from work, silence only interrupted with Minho’s occasional grumbles about the food cooling.

 _“It’s soon,”_ Thomas probably said out of the blue, startling Minho.

 _“I know,”_ the Asian probably replied, watching Thomas’s eyes moisten.

He probably crossed the table and squeezed Thomas in a hug, pressing kisses to his forehead and reassuring that Newt is too young to die this year. Thomas probably leaned into the touch, letting himself weep because yes he is fucking allowed to cry over  _this._

“I’ve never felt this before on the eve of my death day,” Newt admits, shoving the vivid fantasy as far away as he can manage. His eyes don't fix on any of the two boys around him. The ground is okay to stare at for now.

“Felt what?”

“Apprehension,” Newt looks up into Minho’s eyes, not quite daring to glance at Thomas just yet. Over these months he learnt that Thomas is not the type to hold his emotions back and right now he can't bear with the worry that he caused in the young boy’s eyes. Minho, in contrast, stays rock calm, but from the way his grip unwillingly tightens on Newt’s hand and his lips get yet another nip from his teeth, Newt knows Minho’s far from being calm.

“That’s just the fear speaking in you. We’re gonna be okay,” the Asian assures, tilting his head to the right to cast a quick glance on Thomas behind Newt’s back and make sure the boy isn’t freaking out.

For a moment Newt considers replying with a no, explaining that over all the past years of his life he’s never once sensed this squirming in his chest that makes him feel sick in the stomach and shudder with his whole external body.

But he lets go of the thought as quickly as he grasps it, with just one look over his shoulder at Thomas, who looks like he is about to burst out in tears.

“You’re right, Min,” Newt says quietly, doing his best to prevent his voice from cracking. “It’s probably not a big deal. And besides, I’m not planning on leaving you two alone just yet, so there’s no way in bloody hell I’m gonna die.” He smiles sympathetically at Thomas and nods to confirm the genuineness of his own words.

He watches as Thomas takes a deep breath and his reddened eyes swallow the gathered tears back. The young boy wraps his arms around Newt’s waist from behind and presses his face against Newt’s back, pressing a lingering touch of lips on the soft fabric of Newt's hoodie.

“I’ve had a crush on you two for two fucking years. Now when I finally got you, I’m not letting go. Death can fuck off,” he mumbles, making Newt chuckle and loosening up the tension in the air.

The familiar weight of Minho’s head descends onto his lap and Newt can’t help but sigh, running hands through the smooth coaly hair of the boy and ruining its perfectly styled look. Minho closes his eyes, hums at the feeling of his hair being played with, and lifts his eyelids to look up at Newt and Thomas from beneath.

“I love you,” he whispers in an exhale, pupils darting from one boy to the other. The words slip into air and seem to hover like a dome above the three of them.

The meaningful words have never been pronounced by any of the boys during all seven months of their relationship. Minho thought he’d have chosen the moment to say them carefully, one day when he’d treat his boys out to someplace pretty. During a picnic under the night sky of New York, next to the lake where they first met. Or perhaps in the coffee shop where they had their first date. But he’d postponed the do for too long and now he felt like he needs to say it in case Newt doesn’t get to hear that ever again.

His body is tense; he wonders whether he fucked up when nothing comes as a reply. The oxygen in air seems to have turned into a heavy metal, pressing on his shoulders, hard.

It’s then, when his eye catches a movement of something dark over him leaning down, and suddenly there’s a pair of warm lips tenderly leaving their taste on his mouth, not quite in a right angle, but it still sends a wave of shudder through Minho. Thomas pulls away after a while, straightening his back since he had to bend his body down and reach for Minho on Newt’s lap.

Newt never stops his hands from caressing the Asian’s hair. There’s a smile on his face that Minho can’t interpret as anything else but sadness and it breaks his heart to see the blond boy’s beautiful eyes twinking in this sorrowful smile.

He watches as Thomas leans his head on Newt’s shoulder once more, turning the elder boy into the one thing that holds both him and Minho. The blonde throws one hand over Thomas’s back, squeezing the boy onto him and placing a kiss on top of his head, other hand still in Minho’s hair on his lap.

They sit there in silence for a while, an unspoken feeling soaring in the atmosphere around them.

“I love you. Too.” Newt finally speaks, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, first locking his eyes with Thomas and then looking down on Minho. “I don’t care I sound like a sissy. You two are the best thing that happened to me since my bloody birth."

“You don’t-“ Thomas trails off, giving Newt a chance to finish in case he meant to say something else, but when the blonde doesn’t continue, he speaks up again. “You don’t sound like a sissy. And I love you. And you,” he looks over to Minho.

There it goes, he muses after, they all said it and they all meant it, as imperfect and flawed as it could have sounded.

“That’s it. Let’s go,” Minho pushes himself up from Newt’s lap and sits straight for a moment to clear his vision after the abrupt movement. He then stands up, dragging the boys after him to the bedroom door.

They snuggle into their favourite posture with Minho in the middle of the king-sized bed and the two boys on his chest and stomach, under the cover of his strong arms.

It’s dark and silent for a long moment, Newt’s uneven heavy breaths the only noise emitted into air. There’s brief dry kisses pressed onto skin every now and then and tiny shudders of bare chests from the familiar warm sensations of lips, but no one dares to break the unbearably severe silence.

“Minho?” the blonde calls at some point, looking up at the Asian’s closed eyes.

“Hmm?” Minho humms, sending a wave of pleasant little vibration over the other boy's cheek pressed to his shoulder. His grip tightens slightly around both of his boyfriends, squeezing their heat into him. 

“Kiss me,” Newt murmurs against the hug and Minho obeys, planting a sweet kiss on the boy’s lips, lingering it for as long as he can afford.

“Tommy?” The boy’s name is enough to have him doing the same then; his kiss is surprisingly more forceful and brief. Newt feels how the young one is trying to show with all his passion that this is not the last time he’s kissing his boyfriend. There’s going to be plenty more of kisses after tomorrow is over.

That helps Newt to relax and let out a muffled exhale. He’s lucky to have these two. That’s the last thought he has before falling into the darkness of sleep.

That’s the last thought he has before he doesn’t hear the sirens of ambulance outside their apartment. The last thought he has before he doesn’t see Thomas burying his soaked face into Minho’s shoulder. Doesn’t hear Minho yelling at no one and at everyone at the same time. Doesn’t catch the fatal words pronounced next to his slumbering body.

_“At least it happened while he was asleep.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is so cheesy. It’s a little too cheesy I believe. I’m sorry if I overdid this. I hope it was enjoyable to read


End file.
